The Goodbyes Have It
by sandlawkids
Summary: Paul Briggs is F.B.I Rookie Mike Warren's Training Officer...and boyfriend. Only problem is Paul 'loves' Mike enough to put his hands on him. How will Mike get out of this situation? Will he? Spencer is an old friend of Mike's. Can he help Mike...Will he? Warnings: Domestic Abuse, Non/Dub-Con.
1. Shattering The Perfect Illusion

**A/N: This is my first fanfiction. Please be honest in the comments.**

Trouble in Paradise

Mike sat quietly, reviewing his case files on Bello. He was still dressed as 'Merciless Mike', having just gotten home. He leaned on his elbows, exhausted. It was only 11pm, but Mike needed a break. All day, Bello had Mike running back and forth all over the city, transporting guns and drugs.  
He took a glass of water from the fridge and gulped it down, putting the glass in the sink, he smiled to himself, realizing it was Paul's turn on the chore wheel.

He recalled the memory fondly.  
When he first got to Graceland, Paul made him do the chores…taking advantage of the rookie. After Eddie killed himself, Mike went through a dark time…Briggs helped him through it, and they soon started dating. It was Heaven on earth. Paradise… Until it started falling apart.

Paul Briggs walked into the kitchen, it was his turn on the chore wheel, and he was dreading the thought of work. It wasn't that he was lazy, it was just that he could get other, weaker-willed people to do it. He could be _very seductive_ when he wanted to.  
"Hey babe." Mike kissed Paul gently, "How are you?" Mike asked. Paul exhaled heavily, rubbing his eyes. This act would have to work.  
"Just tired…" Paul yawned, just pretending to notice the dirty plates and silverware, "Mind washing the dishes for me?"  
"Nah, I just got back from Bello." Mike said. Guess the act didn't work. Oh well. There were other, _more effective_ ways of getting people to do things. Mike's air was cut off by a hand around his neck, pressing against his windpipe. A scream died in his throat as his head was slammed against the wall.  
"Did you just say no to me?" Paul asked, "I'm your training officer, Mikey. Remember that." Mike shook his head frantically, trying to get air in his lungs.  
"P-Paul…can't breathe…please, Paul…!" Mike croaked as his vision blurred. In a last-ditch attempt, he pulled at Paul's wrist, trying to loosen the iron grip. Paul released Mike. Mike slid to the ground, his back against the wall. He held his throat, coughing, looking up at Paul with fearful eyes. Paul crouched down next to him.  
"I'm sorry, Mikey." Paul caressed Mike's cheek, "Guess I've been a little stressed lately. I must've just…snapped."

This wasn't the first time Paul had 'just snapped'. This wasn't first time it had happened. Paul had apologized and said it wouldn't happen again, but it did. Stuck woth radio silence from D.C., there was nothing he could do about Paul's abuse. Reporting it to local police would jeopardize over 2 years of undercover work…and get a lot of people killed.  
Paul helped him up, "You alright?" he asked.  
"I-I'm fine." Mike's voice shook. He sure as hell didn't look fine, "Don't worry about me. I love you."  
"If you love me, then why haven't we had sex yet?" It was a regular argument. Paul wanted sex, Mike didn't. He was constantly scared because he knew, one day, Paul would cross the line.  
"I'm just not ready." Mike exhaled and braced for a slap in the face, but Paul dropped the subject.  
"I love you too, Mikey." Paul embraced Mike. Anyone watching, and maybe (deep down) even Mike, would know it was an attempt at control, "You gonna wash those dishes?" Paul narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Mike's every move. Mike distanced himself from Paul and nodded.  
"O-of course. You get some rest."  
"Be up soon, okay?" Paul asked, but they both knew it wasn't a question.

**A/N: Thank you for reading. What'cha think?**


	2. Chapter 2: Godot

**A/N: I just want to point out that the timeline in this story is really, really…..off. Spencer's a genius and has all his qualifications, but graduated High school at 16, in the year above Mike's class. Spencer joined the FBI 2 years before Mike did. (I'm assuming Mike would join the year of his 23****rd**** birthday, which makes Spencer, like, 33 in this story.) It jumps from POV as well. Sorry. (Or am I?)  
By the way, the ''Hankel'' stuff didn't happen, but Spencer's still a former addict.**

**Chapter 2: Godot**

"_**If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself."  
-George Orwell**_

"We still on for today?"  
"Of course!" the voice on the other end chuckled, "It's been forever, Mikey."  
"I know…" Mike trailed off, silently worrying.  
"Are you okay?" Spencer asked, possibly sensing Mike's uneasiness.  
"Yeah." He lied, "It's just a really tight schedule."  
"…You wanna reschedule? I can do breakfast instead?"  
"Sounds good." Considering Paul wouldn't be up and about until around twelve, Mike reckoned he could get back in time and avoid Paul's anger. It would be pretty difficult, but it'd be worth it. Mike hadn't seen Spencer since their High School graduation.

Spencer hung up. He was supposed to meet Mike at a restaurant downtown in 2 hours. Considering Mike had a boyfriend, calling Spencer at 6am probably wasn't a good idea...Mike and Spencer had history – Spencer liked to think of it as _ancient history. _Ever since he'd gotten married, he was a changed man. Well, he liked to think that, whether or not it was true.  
He rotated his ring slowly before taking it off. Spencer didn't wear his ring in public. He thought of marriage as a private affair, and didn't take kindly to people who always talked about theirs.

Mile got out of the shower, patting himself dry. He was going to be late for his meeting with Spencer if he didn't hurry.  
"Going somewhere?" the voice growled. Mike turned to face the owner.  
"Paul." He said, "I didn't think you'd be up so early."  
"You didn't answer my question." He said quietly. Mike preferred when Paul yelled, or even insulted him. Because, when Paul got quiet, there was always trouble.  
"I was going to meet an old friend; from high school."  
_ "Oh,"_ Paul got up and Mike scrambled to get dressed. Still only half covered, Mike looked for words to soothe Paul, "and when were planning to tell me?"  
"I-I didn't want to wake you." Mike said timidly. Paul grabbed Mike's wrists and physically shoved him against the wall. Mike felt the wind knocked out of him as Paul tightened the vise-like hold.  
"Listen to me, you slut –"  
"Paul, let go. I'm bruising." Mike pleaded. Paul tightened his grip, and Mike gritted his teeth.  
"Your friend. What's their name?"  
"Spencer." Mike felt like his bones were being crushed. Paul let him go. Mike slowly rotated his sore wrists. They slightly stiff and the red finger marks were clearly visible…this was definitely going to affect his wardrobe choices.  
"Spencer," Paul spat the name like venom, "isn't going to find out about this. Is he?"  
"No, he isn't." it was a rhetorical question, but you could never be too careful with a man like Briggs.  
"You are _going_ to be back within six hours." Paul ordered, "You already know what's going to happen if you disobey me." Mike nodded. Paul had ways of getting into his head without laying a hand on him; Mike figured he just liked this way better. Mike finished getting dressed, feeling Paul's eyes on him the whole time.  
"Thank you. I, uh, need to go, or I'll be late."  
"Where are you meeting him?" Paul demanded. Mike considered lying, but knew Paul would check his story out. So, there was no point in lying.  
"The French restaurant downtown." Paul nodded, and Mike left. Paul paced for a few moments before the thought came to mind. He found his cell and called a familiar number.

"What can I do ya for?"  
"He's going to some French place downtown. Follow him for me." Paul said.  
"What do I get out of it?"  
"The usual." Paul hung up and smiled to himself. Whether Mike wanted to or not, he'd learn some discipline.

_**"A good friend keeps your secrets for you. A best friend helps you keep your own secrets."**_

_**-Lauren Oliver**_

They sat laughing, both red in the face. Mike was glad to be away from Paul, if only for a few hours. Their table was near the back, in a secluded corner. Well, as secluded as corners in a café could get.  
"I'm up for another coffee, you?"  
"You're _always _up for another one, Spence." Mike smiled, "And that would be lovely, thanks."  
Spencer got up and made his way to the counter where baristas were filling orders. The blond man standing beside him smiled, and Spencer, trying to be pleasant, smiled back. The man, about Hotch's size, stuck out his hand.  
"James." He introduced himself. Spencer shook James's hand.  
"Spencer."  
"Well, Spencer. Can I buy you a coffee?" Spencer noted the way James puffed out his chest, and his unwavering stare. James looked about ready to jump him.  
"Actually, I'm here with someone."  
"Oh, come on." James put a firm hand on Spencer's shoulder, "One won't hurt." Spencer bit his lip as a stab of pain coursed through him.  
"You're hurting me. Let go, now. I'm busy, and…"  
"Is there a problem here?" Mike asked, snaking his hand around Spencer's waist, "_Honey_, you were gone a while. I was starting to get worried." James let go, and Mike kissed Spencer's cheek. The barista handed them the coffees, and they walked back to their table together. Mike broke the silence, "Sorry about that. I know you're married, and you can fight-"They were interrupted by Mike's phone ringing. Again. Spencer exhaled. It was probably Paul. Again. The guy was calling every half-hour. Mike had ignored the last two calls, but He just wouldn't stop.  
"Just turn off your phone." Spencer suggested. Mike shook his head.  
"I can't do that," Mike said, "he's my training officer."  
Spencer blinked rapidly, "...and your boyfriend?"  
"Yeah. Bad idea, I know."  
"Of course it's a bad idea. 71 percent of relationships between an employer and employee, boss and subordinate, and trainee and training officer become abusive in some way."  
"Thank you for that enlightening statistic, Spence." Mike said sarcastically, "Excuse me." Mike got up and went to the restroom. He took off his sports jacket and laid it next to the sink. He then rolled up his sleeves, examining the bruises. The red had changed to a pinkish-blue. The fingers had left an impression, in stark contrast with his pale skin. Mike leaned over the sink, turned on the tap and splashed his face. Taking deep breathes, he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He rushed into one of the stalls and puked. There was nothing in his stomach, just coffee and bile. He washed out his mouth and chewed six sticks of gum, just to get rid of the taste.  
Keeping secrets stressed him out, being undercover was hard enough. Lying to the people he cared about was even harder. He took his coat off the basin-top and spat out his gum. He smiled before making his way over to Spencer and sitting down.  
"Sorry about that."  
Spencer waved it off, "No problem." It was then Mike realized he'd lost track of time.  
"What time is it?" He asked, worried. He did have a curfew, and a strict one at that.  
"Twenty-five past eleven. Why?"  
"I need to go. Now." Mike got up and put on his jacket, "Thanks for the coffee." And ran outside. Spencer ran out after him.  
"Hold on! Wait." Spencer said. Either Mike was ignoring him or couldn't hear. Spencer shouted louder. He managed to grab hold of Mike's wrist. Mike winced and stopped running. Spencer raised an eyebrow and yanked up Mike's sleeve. Spencer let out a gasp as the bruises were exposed. Mike shifted awkwardly, avoiding eye-contact.  
"Look at me." Spencer said, "Did Paul do this to you?" Mike looked Spencer in the eye and nodded. There was no point in lying. What was Mike supposed to say, he fell?  
"Spencer, I have to go."  
"Back to him? No, there's no way I'm letting you go back to that monster."  
"It's not up to you. I need to leave."  
"I can't let you do that," Spencer stood his ground.  
"Well, I can't be late. If you really care that much you'll let me get home before he gets mad."  
"Mike. He's always going to have an excuse to get mad, to hit you, or to yell at you. Come stay with me for a while, that way, the next I see you, you won't be in the morgue."  
"Relax. I'm not a _victim_. I can take care of myself."  
"Fine, Mikey. Be stubborn, you always were, but if anything happens, if you reconsider: call me, okay?"  
"I will. Thanks for the coffee. I'll see you around." Mike hopped into his Dodge Charger, and sped off down the road, praying that he got home in time to avoid Paul's wrath. 

**A/N: I couldn't find a correct one, so I completely made up that statistic.  
Anyway, Ooohhh. Spencer found out about the abuse…What gonna happen when Mikey gets home, huh? Oh, and if anyone can tell me why I named the chapter 'Godot', then they get a prize. (I literally have no clue.)  
So that's Chapter 2, stayed up till Midnight typing it up. Hope you enjoyed it. Leave a comment/review, feel free to PM if you have concerns or queries.  
Thanks for reading. **


	3. Hell

**A/N: Posting this today to make up for the time gap between Chapter 1 and 2. Hope you guys accept this as an apology? If you can guess why **_this_** chapter is named so, you get…a one-shot, pairing and themes your choice.  
This chapter contains subject matter which may not be suitable for some readers. Reader's discretion is advised. Think I should change the rating to M…yes/no?**

**Chapter 3:Hell.  
**

"_**When a man is penalized for honesty he learns to lie."  
― Criss Jami  
**_

Mike opened the door and shut it silently behind him. He turned around to see Paul standing behind him. He jumped and Paul chuckled.  
"Relax, you're two minutes late." Paul put a hand on the small of Mike's back, "Do you think I enjoy hurting you? All you have to do is listen." Mike wasn't convinced, considering Paul actually sat and counted how long he took, but he wasn't surprised. Paul smiled, "You wanna do something? Movie?" Mike was speechless. Paul was _not_ being this nice. Mike must have zoned out or something, because the next thing he felt was a whack to head. It caught him off-guard, and he staggered a bit, before regaining his balance. "What are you, stupid?! You come home late after being with Spencer, not apologizing, but getting in my way. Why are you so useless?!"  
"_I'm not useless_." Mike mumbled.  
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that." Paul said, tilting his head toward Mike.  
"I said: **I'm not useless."** Mike repeated. As soon as the last word came out, a punch knocked him to the ground. Another well-placed blow to the head dazed him.  
"What'd you say?" Paul asked, but it wasn't a question. "Go upstairs and wait for me. Go." Paul whispered. Spencer was right: Paul always had an excuse to get mad. Not wanting to anger him further, Mike marched up the stairs, praying that Paul's twisted mind wouldn't think of a torture too excruciating.

Paul came up a few minutes later, stripped the bed of sheets, and ordered Mike to lie down. Mike shook his head, and bluntly refused. He was scared, terrified even, but he wouldn't let Paul take his dignity without a fight. Paul just laughed and said he'd have his way, whether Mike liked it or not, before putting Mike in a chokehold.

_**It is not the punishment, but the cause that makes the martyr.  
-Saint Augustine  
**_

"Hey there, Mikey. You're awake." Paul said: a huge grin plastered on his face. He loved control, it was probably the reason he tied Mike up. Mike's wrists had been tightly bound to the shafts of the headboard. Paul left Mike's feet free, just so he could see them kick when the torture started. "How are you?"  
"Awesome. I feel fucking awesome." Mike said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Ignoring his tone, Paul laughed.  
"I'm glad; cause you're about to feel _even_ better." Picking up a thin silver pole, Paul showed it to Mike, "Do you know what this is?"  
"No…" Mike shook his head and Paul fired up the blowtorch. Paul stuffed a pair of socks in Mike's mouth to keep him quiet, then placed the curtain rod in front of the flame. When it glowed, red hot, Paul pressed the rod firmly against Mike's neck. The sound of Mike's flesh being seared off rang in his ears. He screamed loudly, the socks failing to muffle the sound. Paul dropped the rod, which fell to the ground with a clang.  
"You're going to answer my questions honestly, okay, Mikey?" Paul half-asked, half-ordered. Mike nodded, speaking muffled sounds. Paul removed the socks and straddled Mike, unbuttoning his shirt. "Do you know why I'm doing this?"  
'_Because you're a sadistic prick?' _Mike thought. He shook his head. Paul hit him square in the face, allowing his head to snap to the side, stretching the fresh burn.  
"You agreed to answer honestly, Mikey…" Mike was a little out of it, the pain making it increasingly harder to concentrate on what Paul was saying, "Are. You. Sleeping. With. Spencer?"  
"N… Aghh... " Paul pressed the rod to Mike's exposed stomach, causing him to holler, the sound bouncing off the walls.  
"Honesty's the best policy." Paul's voice was sickly-sweet. He punctuated the sentence with a violent kiss that assaulted Mike's senses. Paul unbuttoned Mike's pants as he kicked and screamed. "Do you need me to relieve you of your tongue?" Paul whispered, retrieving a long blade from a chest of drawers.  
"N-no. I'll be quiet."  
"Goooood." Paul trilled, slicing into Mike's chest. He trailed his tongue over the scarlet drops that welled to the surface, smirking. Mike gritted his teeth and locked his jaw, focusing on not passing out. "Open." Paul ordered. Mike couldn't think right now, couldn't resist, couldn't refuse. He complied, though he wasn't sure why, with Paul's request. Paul stuffed the socks back into Mike's mouth and climbed off him.

Paul wasn't doing this because he wanted to – he needed to. Mike was disobedient and defiant. He was sleeping with Spencer and lying about it. Pictures don't lie. Getting James to tail Mike was a stroke of _**genius**_, if he said so himself.  
On the other side of the door, left alone, Mike allowed himself to pass out and slip into a restless, dreamless, empty sleep.

**A/N: So…Poor little Mikey seems to be in a spot of trouble…Whoops. (Don't worry, there's worse to come.)  
Anyway, leave a review…if you want, though it's greatly appreciated. (Feeds my ego, haha.) Just kidding, feedback's lovely though, gives me a chance to see what you guys don't like. PM me if you're uncomfortable or something. It's not like I'll change the entire plotline: it's already written, but I might tweak it a bit.**


	4. Chapter 4: Just Friends?

**A/N: I'm sorry I'm late. I have no excuse, but procrastination. Won't happen again, promise.**

**Chapter 4: Just friends?  
**

"**Maxim 31:  
Only cheaters prosper."  
― Howard Tayler  
**

About a mile and a half from the makeshift torture chamber, Spencer was at home. He had finally gotten his hands on the _Imperial Affliction _and decided to read. And by read, he meant attempting to. His husband was a constant distraction.  
"Derek! Can you stop walking in my peripheral vision for one second?!" Spencer yelled. Derek Morgan stopped in his tracks. Spencer was _never_ this snappy with him.  
"Tell me what's wrong."  
"Nothing's wrong, Derek." Spencer saw Derek's eyes scanning him, "Don't profile me."  
"Come on, Spencer. I don't need to profile you to know when you're lying." Derek said matter-of-factly.  
"I'm fine."  
"Who isn't?" Spencer wrinkled his nose at Derek's question.  
"You know Mike, right? The one I told you about? We met in high school…"  
"Yeah…" Morgan silently urged him to continue.  
"His boyfriend's abusing him. There are bruises on his wrists. He's not himself anymore…he's quiet, submissive…Paul calls him every two seconds."  
"Paul…?"  
"I didn't get a last name." Spencer said quietly, "I should've, but I didn't. God…"  
"Mike will be fine. When's the last time you saw him?"  
"Breakfast…"  
"What does Mike do?"  
"He's, um, a teacher." Spencer lied, "Spanish teacher. He has my number, so-"  
"If Mike needs help, he'll call. He's probably fine."  
"Yeah…" Spencer breathed, hoping for the best, "I'm sure he is." Spencer hugged Morgan, "Thank you."  
"For what?" Morgan asked. Spencer smiled.  
"Just being you. And being there for me." Spencer kissed Morgan, which Morgan eagerly returned. Their fingers interlocked, Spencer's book long forgotten.

Meanwhile, in a safe house across town, James and various other criminals - though James would often protest that he wasn't a criminal, he was a businessman (that killed people for a living) – sat around, drinking beer and talking. Seeing his _'employer'_ walk through the door, James excused himself. He shook hands with Paul, who handed him 3 packets of white powder: Heroin. It was their currency, worth more than money.  
"You got another job for me?"  
"No, but I'll need to see you later." Paul paused, and gestured to the criminals in the other room, "Away from these morons." James smirked, and ran a hand through his blond hair, before Paul spoke again, "Think of it as a reward."  
"I look forward to it." James eyes had grown dark with lust.

"_**Cheats prosper until there are enough who bear grudges against them to make sure they do not prosper."  
― Peter Singer**_

Morgan got up from the couch, kissing Spencer's forehead before untangling himself from Spencer's limp grasp. He walked over to where his pants had been strewn on the floor during that afternoon's endeavors. Putting them back on, he felt his phone vibrate. Morgan jammed his hand into his pocket and took out his phone. It was a text, from a private number, containing two pictures and 5 words.  
_**'Still think they're just friends?'**_ The first picture was of Spencer, his hand on some man's chest; Morgan guessed it was Mike, whispering in his ear. The second was of 'Mike', his hand around Spencer's waist, kissing Spencer's cheek.  
Morgan glanced over at his husband's sleeping form. He wanted to shake Spencer awake and demand answers, but resisted the urge. The pictures could be fakes, a ploy to drive a wedge between then. He knew what to do.  
"Hey Babygirl."  
"Hey Sugar. I love you, but do you know what time it is? It's my day off, this better be important."  
"It is. I need you to find out the last number that texted my cell. And I sent you two pictures; I need you to tell me if they're photoshopped." Keystrokes were heard as Morgan tapped his foot impatiently. Garcia's laptop beeped in irritation.  
"Sorry my coffee-colored god, it can't be done. It's a burn phone and who – where'd you get these?"  
"They were sent to me. Are they shopped?"  
"I'm afraid not." Garcia paused, and Morgan could almost hear her nervously chewing at a pencil, "Tell me you still trust the Boy Wonder, or is there trouble in paradise?"  
"No need to worry," Morgan gritted his teeth, "they're probably taken out of context. I'll ask Spencer about it."  
"Derek? Don't go crazy, okay?"  
"I won't." Derek hung up. He stood silently, glaring at the photos, feeling his blood boil. Pictures don't lie. They'd been married for what, three, almost four years? And Spencer decided to cheat… and lie about it right to Morgan's face? Spencer wasn't wearing his ring…maybe he should calm down. Not jump to conclusions – maybe it really _was _taken out of context.  
_No._ Morgan chuckled silently; _Spencer wouldn't betray him like that._ He couldn't believe he had actually entertained the possibility.  
"Derek?" Spencer said groggily. He squinted as the sunlight struck him, "Do you mind closing the blinds?" Morgan shuffled over, and closed the blinds. He turned around and stared at Reid, "What? Have I got something on my face?"  
"Spence…" Morgan exhaled, "Someone – I got these a few minutes ago, they were sent from a burn phone. Now, before I show you, I just wanna ask: why don't you wear your ring?"  
"I thought we went over this al-"  
"Let's go over it again." Morgan said firmly, interrupting Spencer, "Why don't you wear it?"  
"I don't like the feeling of being interrogated, Derek."  
"I'm not interrogating you. Just answer the question."  
"I don't wear it," Spencer begrudgingly answered, "because it's not anyone's business. It's personal. The team knows, our families know. I wanted to keep it close to heart, keep it sacred, not tell everyone you see, y'know?"  
"Right." Morgan felt rather foolish, but hid his embarrassment. He turned the device's screen to face Spencer, "Can you explain this?" Spencer glanced up from the phone, and stared at Morgan suspiciously before answering.  
"Pushy guy was flirting with me. James. Mike inserted himself, pretending to be my boyfriend. We had to sell it." Morgan raised an eyebrow, "That one, I was telling Mike about you…Wait. How'd you get that picture, from that angle?"  
"I told you, someone…" Then it clicked, "Did you see anyone around? Following you? Watching you too closely?"  
"James…but he left straight after Mike came… I wasn't looking, really." Spencer sat up, "What if they followed me here?"  
"We don't even know who _they_ is. Did you make a heat run back here?"  
"Yeah, but if they are following me, they could be following Mike too." Spencer searched for his phone, picking it up off the floor, "I have to see if he's okay." He dialed Mike's number and waited.

**A/N: I'm sorry this is mostly just filler. The real stuff happens in the next chapter. Next chapter will be longer as well. Feedback is always welcome, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. **


	5. Rescue Me

**A/N: Like I said before, the timeline for this is really off, so bear with me.  
HAPPY HOLIDAYS! (I don't know what you celebrate.)**

**Chapter 5: Rescue Me**

"**For someone who needs refuge, a key is provided."  
― Anna Keesey,**

When Mike came to, he could feel nothing but _**pain**_. His entire body ached, and every movement was a struggle. His neck and stomach were on fire. Mike looked around, careful to keep his neck steady. The room was dark, so Mike knew he'd been here for a while. How long, that, he didn't know. What he did know, was that he was hungry and really thirsty too. He needed to get something in his mouth – water, and something that wasn't old socks. Mike's lips were starting to crack, and his throat was parched. Paul wasn't around, but Mike knew better than to underestimate him. He could have mounted cameras to spy on Mike; although they wouldn't do much good in the dark.

The loud ringing of his phone sliced through the darkness. Even though his head was pounding, and his body cried out every time he moved, Mike knew he had to answer the phone. He couldn't handle another round of whatever Paul had in store for him, and this could be his only chance. With his pants around his knees, and his hands tied, Mike forced himself to devise a plan.

He eased himself down the bed, shimmying the pants up his legs. In doing so, the rope around his wrists tightened, cutting into his skin. Mike squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to ignore the pain. He raised his hips, attempting to finally reach his phone. The sealed wound on his stomach split and started to bleed. The beads of sweat travelling down his body stung like acid. He paused, staying completely still.

Maybe he could wait this out. He could pass out, be burnt, branded, beat up. Paul could break every bone in his body, but Mike knew there was no way Paul could kill him. Paul was capable, no doubt about that, but killing a federal agent? He'd already been arrested for suspicion on Juan's murder – but even though he'd been cleared on that, Mike's sudden disappearance would cause a lot of questions.

The phone rang out. Guess Mike's decision was made for him. He would be stuck here as long as Paul's depraved heart desired. With the pain and thought of death making him light-headed, Mike made a last-ditch attempt to the phone. He flicked his feet upward and curled into a ball. He crooked his neck and gripped the phone with his teeth. Mike almost passed out from the pain, but the little success spurred him on. He flung his neck back and with a great deal of accuracy, and a shitload of luck, the phone landed next to his head.

Even though Mike couldn't talk, thanks to the socks in his mouth, he prayed that the phone would ring again. He couldn't take much more of this – the pain was getting to him. Black dots danced in his vision as the darkness drew near.

**GRACELAND ~ GRACELAND ~ GRACELAND ~ GRACELAND**

"He's not answering!" Spencer yelled, slamming the phone down. What he didn't realize was that he was shaking – perhaps 'trembling' was the better word – with fear. "What if Paul did something to him?" Morgan wrapped his arms around Spencer, leaning his head on Spencer's shoulder.  
"Don't – You can't think like that." Morgan whispered, "Mike's probably in the shower or something. Try again later." Spencer nodded slowly - he had paled - and Morgan was worried. He let go of Spencer, "You okay?"  
"Yeah. I'm…" Spencer leaned against the wall, steadying himself, "I'm, uh –"  
"Spence?" Morgan hovered over his husband, clearly distressed over Spencer's condition. His phone rang, and he swore before answering it.

"Morgan."  
"We have a case." Morgan recognized the voice as his boss, Aaron Hotchner, "It's rather sensitive. Serial killer with a body count of over 35 – previously arrested for assault with a deadly weapon. Charges were dropped when the victim recanted."

"That sounds awfully convenient…" A stifled moan escaped Spencer's lips as he crumpled to the floor, "Shit! I'll call ya back, Hotch." Morgan rushed over lifting Spencer from the ground, and rests him on the couch before calling 911. "Spencer? I need you to wake up." Morgan grabbed one of his shoulders, shaking lightly.

The ambulance arrived within minutes. People – especially paramedics – really seemed to care about law enforcement personnel. They loaded Spencer onto the gurney and set off down the road. Morgan followed close behind in a black SUV. Then it hit him. Maybe he should call Mike. I mean, if Spencer was that worried about him, then Mike would want to know, right? He grabbed Spencer's phone (which had been rudely shoved into the cup holder) and scrolled down the contacts. 'Mikey' was the most recent call made. Morgan pressed call.

**GRACELAND~GRACELAND~GRACELAND~GRACELAND**

It sounded far away, but it was definitely there. There, in the dark room, Mike's prayers had been answered. His phone was ringing again. Mike smashed his face against the screen, the action doing nothing to help stop the pounding in his head.

"Hello, is this Mike? My name's Derek, I'm married to Spencer." The strange voice tapered out – or maybe Mike stopped listening. Either way, he was thankful for it. Suddenly, Mike realized his eyes were starting to close. He was finally going to die, and he would welcome death with a smile. "Mike? Spencer's in the hospital. He collapsed –"Mike seemed to have a change of heart and made as much noise as he could, straining his vocal cords, hoping that his muffled shouts came out at least semi-coherent.

Morgan didn't need to be an FBI agent to know that Mike was in trouble, at least hurt enough so he couldn't talk. By some strange miracle though, Morgan seemed to understand him. "Did Paul do this to you?" Morgan asked – he had to help Mike.  
Mike yelled some more, pushing his body to the limit. "I'm gonna put a trace on this call, okay? Stay on the line." Morgan was answered by the sound of faint breathing on the other end. "Mike? I need you to stay awake."

**A/N: Morgan and Mike finally meet! Looks like Mike's gonna be outta that hell-hole soon. Aren't you glad? I am.  
I have school, so it'll take a little longer to update. Sorry.**


End file.
